Time to Rest
by ardavenport
Summary: The aftermath of Picard's mind meld with Sarek.


**TIME TO REST**

by ardavenport

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The world receded.

Picard gasped. It seemed he was falling back, rushing away from himself. In a whir, he saw himself getting smaller and smaller at the end of a dark, lengthening tunnel.

He blinked. Sarek's fingers pressed hard into his cheekbone. Picard sighed. The mind meld dissolved like a dream. He suddenly felt a welcome, cool chill run down his body, as if he'd walked into an air-conditioned room from a blazing desert. Tired beyond belief, his muscles ached from the sudden release of tension; the blood vessels behind his eyes throbbed; his mouth was dry, the back of his uniform damp with sweat. He sat for a moment trying to gather strength, but he wanted nothing more than to lie down in a warm bed.

Ambassador Sarek, calm and composed, for the moment, stared back at him, his shadowed eyes seeing alone what they had a moment ago seen together. The pressure of the vulcan's fingertips lessened slightly.

"Rest." Sarek said. "You have done your part well."

Unwillingly, Picard's head fell forward, his eyes closing. He felt a hand on his shoulder; Beverly Crusher leaned close next to him, her body touching him. He laid his head on his arms on the desk. He didn't really have any choice; he was just too tired to sit up.

Sounds. Noises of people moving about. He didn't really think about what it meant until someone spoke.

"Ambassador?" Will Riker. He'd come in with Sarek.

"I will be fine, Commander. But like your captain, I require...rest."

"Ambassador?" Doctor Crusher. Her hands left him.

"I will return to my quarters. Please, do not concern yourself. The treaty with the Legarans is concluded." A pause. "I will be fine Commander. You need not escort me. Your captain is in far greater need of support."

"Ambassador." Riker again, softly.

The door opened and closed.

"Jean-Luc?" Suddenly it seemed that Beverly Crusher was close to him again, her arm laying across his shoulder, her hand on his arm.

"Ummmmmm." It seemed that he had neither the strength nor the inclination to respond any further. His chin rested against the hard, glassy surface of the desk and his head weighed heavily on his right arm.

"Will, can you carry him?" Doctor Crusher's voice asked.

"Sure."

The meaning of this didn't really set in until after they'd gently pulled him back up to a sitting position. The chair was dragged back away from the desk. He felt his right arm being lifted up and laid on a broad shoulder. Arms slid behind his back and under his legs.

"Uhhhhh." He tried raising his head. It wobbled upward. He shifted his legs, but Riker already had a good grip on him. He opened his eyes halfway. Doctor Crusher leaned over him. Her red hair shadowed her face and she blocked out the overhead light.

"Hey," she said quietly, her hand stroked his temple. He narrowed his eyes crossly at her, annoyed that he was being carried to bed like a child. But his exhaustion seemed to have bled away any severity to the expression; Doctor Crusher seemed utterly unaffected by it. "Just relax," she told him gently. He closed his eyes and rested his head against Riker's shoulder.

Riker lifted him. The captain wasn't too heavy, probably less than eighty kilograms. But picking him up made it unavoidably clear to Riker how much smaller and more slender Picard was than himself. That always surprised Riker, who was nearly a head taller. In his mind, Riker always thought of Picard as being larger than he actually was.

He readjusted his grip under Picard's knees and carried him into the bedroom where he carefully lowered him to the bed. Picard stirred and opened his eyes as he lowered his head to the pillow. Riker stood back, letting Doctor Crusher sit on the bed next to the captain. Her medical tricorder hummed over her patient.

"Sarek?" Picard asked, turning his head toward her, his voice rough and weak.

"He's fine." Crusher laid her hand on his shoulder. She gazed down at him, her hair falling forward; Riker stood beyond looking down at him over her shoulder. "Now I want you to get some rest," she told him.

"Hmmmm," he grumbled with half-closed eyes.

She rose and slid the blanket out from under his feet and then covered him with it. He would have preferred if she'd take his boots off, but he didn't feel like asking. She and Riker left the room, turning the lights down after them.

But they didn't leave right away. He could hear them speaking in low tones in the outer room, though he couldn't make out any words.

He was alone. Totally.

For two hours he'd shared his thoughts as one mind with Ambassador Sarek. The Vulcan's weakening mind had poured a lifetime of escaping emotions upon him, allowing Sarek to reinforce himself with his human self-control and conclude the delicate treaty negotiations with the Legarans. Memories, thoughts, passions, long ago tamed, let loose by Sarek's deteriorating discipline.

Picard rolled his head away from the light from the door to the outer room. He weakly tugged at his uniform tunic under the blanket where a wrinkle under him pressed into his back.

For two hours he'd sat at his desk in his quarters, Beverly Crusher nearby. Drowning in Sarek's anguish, he had been unable to contain all those monstrous regrets and desires. It hadn't mattered that he'd been clearly conscious of the difference between the human and the vulcan memories. For the duration of the mind meld, they'd been his thoughts, two parallel pasts in union. Frightening. Hellish. Exhilarating. Glorious.

The light in the outer room went out. The door to his quarters opened and closed. He was alone. A tear ran down his cheek as he closed his eyes and slept at last.

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***_*_*_* END *_*_*_***

**Note:** This story was written by me and first printed (under the name 'Anne Davenport') in 1993, in _King of Infinite Space_ 3, a fanzine back in the hard-copy and snail-mail days of fan-fiction, before the internet really took off.

**Disclaimer:** All Trek characters and the universe belong to Paramount; I'm just playing in that sandbox.


End file.
